


liquified dying sparks

by twitchytweek



Series: Tweek Week 2019 [4]
Category: South Park
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self Harm, Light Angst, M/M, Mentally Ill Characters, a part of a different au of mine, again this is more platonic than anything, in my defense I was really excited, it isn't very heavy though, that y'all are ABSOLUTELY encouraged to ask abt, tweekweek, yes I skipped day four for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20264506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchytweek/pseuds/twitchytweek
Summary: There were so many things about Tweek's life that felt out of his control, and he was tired of spending an existence he had to cope with. It should have been no surprise that he acted out often. Still, he had a knack for finding new ways to ruin himself.





	liquified dying sparks

**Author's Note:**

> fic track (and also the title source): Golden Antlers- Glass Animals

Normally, when Tweek decided to have a mental break at 3am, he'd settle for psychotic wandering, if for no other reason than to put physical distance between him and all the stressors daily life had to offer. It helped well enough, just being out of the house, especially when he could coax someone into joining him for a while. Most times, it resulted in watching old reruns of shows and talking about how much parents sucked, but he got to speak about a small fraction of the things that weighed down on his mind and that went a long way in feeling… Something resembling better, something resembling okay.

But it never actually changed anything, venting about how much his life sucked. He'd still have to sneak back in right as the sun peered over the horizon, and he'd still be in his room, trying to devise a way to exist quietly that didn't make him want to tear off his own skin just to have something engaging enough to occupy his mind with. Neither did making a big show about how much everything felt like it was conspiring against him, personally. He liked being bold— he liked taking chances, now that he'd accepted that every little thing could kill him and began to embrace it— but it still didn't do much in the way of changing his environment. He had a strict routine of work and school and theater rehearsals that left him wiped out the second he got any room to breathe.

Granted, it was a lot easier to accept risks to general well-being once he'd accepted he'd already died. The grim reaper just hadn't caught up to him yet, but he would, in due time, and until then Tweek planned to take full advantage of spitefully existing. He'd been so scared, of so many things, for _so long_ that little details weren't worth worrying about.

When he got his first piercing from a friend of a friend of a cousin, the pain wasn't intimidating. Really, the clamp hurt a lot more than the needle, and the only part he really hated dealing with was trying to eat with a swollen lip. But it wasn't so bad he didn't want to do it again, and soon enough there were two little metal rings through his lip that he probably should have been scolded for, but there wasn't much the school could do once he'd already shoved a couple sharp objects through him. 

Shortly thereafter, he worked his way up to dyeing his hair— nothing too extravagant, just bright green streaks he kept during the summer that stained his hair a vibrant mix of lemon and lime. He got bored of green around the time everyone started calling him "Sprite", and switched to orange, then red, then strawberry blonde during the school months. He started to fall back on it any time something noteworthy happened, anything big and dramatic and scary enough to have him shaken. He wasn't assuming an entirely new identity, but it felt enough like it to be liberating, like he was choosing something for once. And once it was done, no one could do anything about it except frown and complain that he looked so _nice_ before he ruined himself. So Tweek ruined himself some more, as one does when they're spiteful and bitter and hurting. 

His dad tossed him in a mental hospital for a week, when he found out about the scars, and Tweek met a boy with arms more mangled than his own. He lived exclusively in sweaters and didn't talk much, but he'd tell Tweek a lot. They stayed in contact after and coached each other through a couple identity crises. Got drunk, sometimes, or wandered late at night. Somehow, despite living within walking distance of each other, Tweek hadn't ever talked to him much. 

What Tweek needed right now was a change— a way to feel in control. Every aspect of his life was micromanaged by someone else and it was no fucking _wonder_ why he found it hard to cope with all the shit his brain threw at him on top of everything else, but people around him took every opportunity to tell him the burden of responsibility fell on him. That if he just _tried_ hard enough, he'd be better. 

When he tiptoed out of his room, he'd intended to just get some ice cream and sulk for a bit before eventually passing out. But, sometime between walking to the kitchen and opening the freezer, he got sidetracked and gravitated to the cupboard instead. He'd just grab a more filling snack, he promised himself, narrating his own actions so he wouldn't lose track. His mind had a funny way of defying him, though, and his gaze drifted down to the bottom shelf, the only one at eye-level. Most of it was full of old soup cans and drink mix, and right as he went to reach for the one snack cake he'd hidden away for himself, a koolaid packet tipped over. 

It was like divine intervention, or maybe the devil on his shoulder had something to say, but he remembered that he could use koolaid to dye his hair and before god or anyone else could object, he was grabbing every packet they had and hurrying to the bathroom. A quick Google search was all it took for him to find decent instructions on what to do. He decided not to bother with gloves, or any advance measures to avoid the mess; this needed to be done _now_, right now, or else he was convinced that he might implode and take half the town with him.

A frenzied state overtook him from there. He couldn't decide on red or green or purple, so he mixed up all of them and decided that, if he were to be stopped, someone had to smite him down that very second. When no sudden death came, he haphazardly applied the paste as evenly as he could with only one front-facing mirror and his own sensation of touch as a guide. Usually, he had someone to help with this process, but with very little foresight available to him he decided it was a non-problem to be dealt with during the abstract concept of "later". It felt good to do this on his own, anyway, like he was an adult for a brief moment with no rules or pressure or consequences. 

The worst part was sitting to let the dye saturate. About an hour of tedious waiting while adrenaline coursed through his body, replacing his blood with plasma that lit up every time something brushed against his skin. The bathroom felt entirely too small and claustrophobic when he was stuck there, but he didn't dare leave it in case one of his parents saw him and made him wash it all out too soon. Any attempt to distract himself just led him back to the thought of how much he hated waiting for things to happen, until finally his alarm chirped a soft tone and he near-instantly dunked his head under the sink to wash all the dye out.

Everyone would _hate_ this. _Well, good_, he thought, all his brain a mess of barbed wire. _It isn't for them, anyway_. doing his best to not bang his head against the faucet, Tweek kneaded the dye through until he trusted it enough to open his eyes and figured the water ran clear enough to start drying himself off. He refused to examine the results until he looked less like a freshly-bathed pomeranian, but he caught just the barest sliver of a multicolored mess when he turned to grab a towel, and he told himself he was still excited and not terrified. That the fire in his chest was spurring him to action, not warning him against getting burned. 

And then he saw it.

It wasn't… too bad, he could save it, maybe it would look better after he slept on it. Yes, he was only shocked because it was a sudden change, but that was what he needed, and he did feel better, doing something. The mess of lime and scarlet and lavender seemed to watch him, mockingly. 

He glanced down at his hands. They were covered in color; he figured it would mix into some murky neutral tone, but he could pick out every individual shade. The room closed in tighter, then drew back, pulsing like ocean waves. He felt like he was seconds away from being dashed on their rocky shore.

He braved his reflection again, and the full force of what he'd done hit him like several freight trains colliding at once. Fuck, _fuck_, why did he think this was a good idea, this was a _mess_. 

Tweek stumbled out of the bathroom, unsure whether he felt like laughing or screaming or throwing up. Surely, his organs would come up a vibrant mix of neons and light purple just to taunt him further. He needed help, he needed someone to help him fix this. His fingers were navigating his contact list before he could really formulate a plan, leaving candy-colored streaks across the screen that definitely stained his cheek when he put the phone up to his ear.

"Please pick up," he whispered, apologizing profusely for his hubris in the small hope someone would take pity on him.

"...Hello?" Craig's voice had just became his favorite sound in the universe.

"You're up late," Tweek said intelligently, wincing at how much his voice shook. He bounced in place, swallowing down the word vomit that tried to sneak its way out of his throat.

Craig laughed before answering. "Don't have anything to be up early for. What's up?"

"Well…" Tweek gnawed on his lip until he was pretty certain it was bleeding, the words not quite shaping themselves into proper sentences. It took so much effort just to translate what went on in his head. "I might have messed up. I did something really stupid."

"Like, bandages stupid?" Craig asked, concern etched into his voice, and Tweek rushed to assure him otherwise.

"No, no, nothing like that, I swear. Uh… You remember how, in the hospital, you told me you dyed your hair black?"

"Fuck, Tweek, what did you do?"

"I— just. You don't happen to have spare dye, do you?" He prayed Craig would know what to do; he was good at this, at staying calm.

He could hear the speakers crackle with the weight of Craig's sigh. "I mean… Probably, yeah. Why?"

"I messed up," Tweek choked out. Then it turned into a laugh. He felt green to the gills, an exposed nerve hypersensitive to any change in the environment. He couldn't stomach Craig's disappointment. "I messed up _bad_. There's dye everywhere, and I look like a fucking wreck, and— god, shit, my parents."

"They left for the weekend. Remember? You were bitching about it this morning," Craig informed.

"Right," Tweek nodded. "Sorry."

"Don't be. So, to clarify…" Tweek was absolutely going to be sick. His head was _so loud_. "You want me to sneak out at… _Four a.m._ to help you fix your hair?"

"Sorry," Tweek repeated. Nothing else came out, and it made no sense with all the noise he heard.

"Calm down, you're okay," Craig said. His voice shouldn't be able to sound that gentle. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be there, I just have to make sure Tricia doesn't get intrepid."

Tweek nodded, before realizing that, just because he could picture Craig in front of him with his eyes closed and his brain working in overdrive, didn't mean that went both ways. "Okay. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Try not to worry too much until I get there, it'll be okay." 

"Okay," Tweek repeated. After another round of quick reassurances and goodbyes, it felt a little easier to breathe. He just had to think about something else for a bit until Craig got there— much easier to accomplish knowing he had the house to himself. He sat himself down at his keyboard and ran his fingers over the dusty keys before turning it on and playing whatever came to mind first. It didn't take much for his focus to divert towards playing the right notes, and his mind fell blissfully blank. He could still hear that frantic buzzing behind everything else, but as a temporary measure, pushing it back helped a lot. 

Craig arrived, backpack slung over his shoulder, and texted Tweek so he wouldn't panic upon hearing knocking. He'd done his research, apparently; after Tweek had opened the door and spent a brief moment collapsed into Craig's arms, he listed off all these ways to strip dye from hair, concluding pretty quickly exactly what Tweek used because he smelled like a fruit salad and there was no way he had that many dye colors on hand. 

Vinegar was a strong contender for the absolute _worst_ thing Tweek had ever put into his hair, but Craig made the process relatively painless, even providing different things for Tweek to focus on. He heard piano, and asked what Tweek had been learning, and from there they got talking about how Tweek promised to teach him bass, and before he knew it he was rinsing out his hair, Craig's hands at his scalp. It didn't strip the color completely, but everything faded to faint pastels, seafoam and pink and a more blue-violet tone. 

"So," Craig started, sitting himself on the edge of the tub while Tweek dried his hair a second time. "What made you decide to dump an entire cocktail on your head?"

Tweek shrugged, realizing then that he didn't really have a good explanation. Not one that would make sense to Craig. "Thought it would be fun," he tried.

"Was it?" Craig asked.

"I… Maybe, a bit. It's easier to think so now that I don't look like Chernobyl shat out a dip-dyed poodle." Craig snorted, and Tweek grinned. "I'm glad I didn't need to dye my hair black," he hummed. "I don't think I could pull it off."

"No? Why not?" 

"I'm not a big fan of dark colors on me," Tweek said. "On people like you, it's nice, but… I dunno. Would it sound douchey if I said I like the attention I get from bright hair too much to go dark?" 

"I don't think so. You've got a loud personality, it makes sense you want your hair to match. Though platinum blonde does give you that wild asylum look." Tweek threw the stained towel at him, nearly making him fall into the tub. "Hey! It suits you. You look nice like that. You look nice with bright hair too, though." Craig grinned. "Just maybe not with those specific colors."

"Dick," Tweek huffed. "I still need to cover all this up, it didn't strip completely." 

"You still have koolaid, don't you?" Tweek glared. "We'll use one color," clarified Craig, "and I'll help you make sure it's even."

"Fine," Tweek grudgingly agreed. "What color?"

"Green is a classic," Craig said. 

Tweek reached for something else to throw at him so he could wipe that shit-eating from off his face. When he turned up empty handed, he settled for a second glare. "I'm not putting up with that shit again," he said. "Besides, I don't think we have any lime mix left."

"Then, red?" Craig suggested.

Tweek considered for a minute, then nodded. It had been long enough since he'd done red that he wasn't bored of it yet. Besides, he knew how he looked with red hair by then, it wouldn't be such a shock. 

The process was a lot easier now that he had a second set of eyes helping him out. Craig seemed content to do most of the work, which was nice, because Tweek knew how much he hated expending effort into things. But he never made Tweek feel like he minded. He was just there, steady and reliable and constant. And his fingers in his hair felt really relaxing; Tweek was positive he could fall asleep like that in no time at all. 

Craig tossed his discarded sweater Tweek's way once he'd finished. "Put this on. Your collar is soaked, you have to be freezing like that."

"A little," Tweek admitted, already trying to unfasten the buttons. It wasn't easy with how shaky he still felt; his fingers fumbled the same button a good ten or so times before Craig gently nudged his hands away and undid them for him. It wasn't anything he hadn't done a dozen times before, but it still felt noticeably different, having him so close there. It felt different because Tweek wasn't scared of being vulnerable around him; funny, how easily trust was built when someone actually showed that they _cared_. 

Craig's sweater absolutely engulfed him, but it felt warm and soft so he refused to be bothered. "It might get stained," he warned, and Craig draped the towel over his shoulders as an answer. He was careful when they washed the dye out an hour later, but didn't seem to be in any rush to leave. "You'll get in trouble," Tweek cautioned.

"Do you need me to stay?" Craig countered. Tweek opened his mouth to reply, but Craig continued and the half-hearted lie died on his tongue. "Be honest. If you need me, I'll stay. That's all that matters." 

Craig had to have been exhausted, but he stayed up with Tweek until the sun crested the horizon, and Tweek passed out some time shortly thereafter, Craig's hands carding through his hair idly. He woke up with Craig wrapped in his arms, face pressed into his chest, which had to have taken deliberate movement with their height difference. He let himself lay there and drift in and out of sleep for another couple hours before carefully disentangling himself to cook them both breakfast, and the smell of food woke Craig up pretty quickly. The rest of the day passed by in a comfortable, lazy blur. 

The company wasn't so bad. Craig checked in, in the subtle way Tweek had learned him to do, and let Tweek decide what they did, where they went, how long they stayed. Everything felt a lot calmer and easier to manage. Normally, Tweek would have settled for psychotic wandering by himself until he decided it was safe to return to the land of the living, but with good company, he stopped feeling as though that realm excluded him.

He'd made something happen, and not even once did Craig make that feel like anything other than a fun part of living.

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! I hope y'all enjoyed that, I was incredibly eager for this day to roll around— even if I ended up skipping yesterday's prompt. This is actually a collab between me and an incredibly talented friend of mine, so please please please go check out her art here: https://isdisorigionalenoughforyou.tumblr.com/post/187040722935/the-mess-of-lime-and-scarlet-and-lavender-seemed ! She did a brilliant job capturing just how much of a disaster Tweek's hair was lol. Like always, feel free to comment and tell me your thoughts, I love seeing what you have to say! thank u for reading <3


End file.
